


21 Ways (I Could Fall in Love) With You

by thelordvoldemort



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelordvoldemort/pseuds/thelordvoldemort
Summary: Twenty-one little one-shots of different ways that Isak and Even could have met and(/or) fallen in love with each other.





	1. Single Mingle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afuturewithme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afuturewithme/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Nadège. I know I've never really spoken to you before, so I'm a bit sorry to say I had to do some "light stalking." I found that you are interested in a number of fic tropes, so long as Isak and Even are involved, and so long as it's happy. I'll be honest, I couldn't figure out a definite plot, and I kept telling myself and anyone that asked that I was going to do a day-in-the-life. However, anytime I would come up with an idea, I also came up with more that wouldn't fit, or I would see you had already read something similar (please don't ask me what "light stalking" means jdfberfhwbej). So, I composed a few different drabbles, and eventually decided... why not go for 21? 
> 
> Originally, I wanted to start posting them bit by bit at 21:21 EST, but... well, you'll get this for right now, and hopefully, I can beg enough to have someone agree to let me continue on with my plan at 21:21.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Even says dryly as he sidles up to the gorgeous blond leaning against a wall by a corning of the room. “Singling and mingling.”

The guy snorts, “My friend’s fault. I didn’t want to come.”

Even hums, slowly gliding his tongue across the back of his top row of teeth.

“It was my friend for me, as well. What’d your friend do?”

Rubbing at one side of his neck, the guy quietly offers, “Paid me. You?”

“Oh, well.” Clearing his throat, Even takes a moment to look sheepishly at the ground and tug at an earlobe. “Sonja- that’s my cousin- she came over to my apartment, let herself in and everything; with the emergency key. You know, the key she should only use for emergencies, not-“

Noticing the quirk tugging one corner of the blond’s- and really, he should ask him what his name is; it’s probably beautiful, too- lips upwards, Even pauses for a breath, realizing that he’s started to babble. It takes him half a second, but he gets back to the story.

“Anyways,” the taller boy clears his throat, “Sonja comes in, and after I tell her off for not at least knocking first-“

At that, the man grins, and Even can’t help the smile that blooms on his face. He hopes his eyes don’t crinkle, as well, as it would be a shame to lessen this view.

A beat later, he picks up where he left off. 

“After that, she asked if I wanted to go get some pizza? I said sure, she said great, and that she’d drive. And now here I am.”

The shorter blond looks sympathetic as he drags a slight hiss through his teeth.

“That sucks. But, uh,” he pauses, the tip of his tongue sliding out between his lips and eyes skidding around the room, as if uncertain. “There’s a, uh,” he coughs against his shoulder, “um, a pizza place. Like, I don’t know. Three minutes walking distance, if you want to,” once more, the man pauses, this time staring just past Even’s left shoulder, lips briefly parting then closing. He seems to come to a decision, taking a slight inhale through his nose and nodding, most likely to himself. When he finally meets Even’s eyes, he speaks with clear intend, his voice only shaking a bit in the beginning and on the last word. 

Licking his lips, his blinks once before leaning in a little. You can’t help but follow.

“I mean, neither of us wants to here, anyways. I don’t know about you, but I’ve only stayed this long so the person who brought me would shut up for once about not getting out there enough. 

“If we—like if we stuck together, we wouldn’t have to mingle all around and if we ever get brought or brided into coming to one of these things again, well, we can say we mingled the last time, so there’s really no reason to do it again. And I’ve got my mate’s money to spend, and you want pizza. Maybe we can help each other out, yeah?”

It all came out in a rush, which, for Even to think that, is saying something. Still, the man- okay he really cannot take this much longer-

“What’s your name?”

“Wha- Uh, I- Isak.”

Right. So. Still, Isak-

“Isak,” he slowly says aloud. “I like that.” When Isak’s cheeks start to color, Even can’t help but smile. “I’m Even.”

“Even?” Isak repeats.

“Even.”

Ahem. Back to his thought.

\- greedily gulped down air the second after he finished talking.

“Even.” The way Isak says it sounds like he’s melting chocolate on his tongue. “I like it.”

“I do, too.”

It takes him a moment to realize that Isak was talking about Even’s name, not Isak’s chocolate melting tongue.

Clearing his throat, Even prepares what he’s going to say next, when he’s cut off by Isak reaching out his hand. For a second, he stares stunned before he grabs Isak’s hand, thinking they’re going to shake, but when that doesn’t seem to be the case, Even looks up to meet Isak’s eyes, seeing them sparkle in amusement.

“Come on.”

He feels his hand being tugged, with no sign of it shortly being let go.


	2. Put One Foot in Front of the Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a heads up on this one... there are suicidal ideations and tendencies. I have been diagnosed with bipolar depression and anxiety, and have been hospitalized for suicidal ideation, tendencies, etc., so I am very confident in this likelihood/accuracy/characterization. However, if anyone feels the need to discuss after reading this particular one-shot, please feel free to reach out to me. Du er ikke alene.

“Put one foot in front of the other  
And soon you’ll be walking ‘cross the floor  
Put one foot in front of the other  
And soon you’ll be walking out the door  
If you want to change your direction  
If your time of life is at hand”  
\- _Put One Foot in Front of the Other by Mickey Rooney [From Santa Claus is Coming to Town (1970)_

_He is in elementary school when it happens- or, to be more precise: when it does not happen. Chasing the sky and not quite trusting the woodchip-coated ground to catch him, he soars fast and high on the swings. First kicking both feet to get him moving, he soon prefers the moments when he is free falling. Spreading out one foot, and then the other, he lets gravity carry him. With his friends beside and around him, he is not alone._

Here he is, an adult with a life, and a house, but no swing set in the backyard, no park down the road. He is in no house now because he has taken a vacation. His designated location was chosen at random by a dart he had drunkenly and blindly thrown at a map. Sure, the trip here may not have been entirely pleasant, but the view is great; as are the atmosphere and time of peace and tranquility, isolation from the real world. There is room service at the tip of his fingers by night, and a whole ocean to swim in, and beach to walk upon by day, but he came here alone.

_His friends are learning to jump off a moving swing. However, he is not as amused. They tell him to push off with both feet, but he has always felt better taking one step at a time. On the swim team, his routines involve kicking one foot and then the other. Swimming is easy; jumping with the possibility of landing on his ass, is not. Yet he can climb the monkey bars, hanging upside down with no hands. To his friends, he is their fearless leader; for while he still cannot jump off the swings both legs at once, he can swim, kicking one leg at a time, and he can climb on the monkey bars in a similar fashion._

It has been years since he last spoke to any of those old friends. If asked, he will say that when they started to drift, he left them, never one to wait for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps this contests to why he just threw both his left and right sandal over the balcony, one after the other, rather than both at once. He has never been one to do something half-assed. He may not be one to jump in headlong or with both feet, but when he does jump onboard an idea of his own, he does so, knowing, or maybe having too high of a hope that there will always be a ground- a floor- to catch him. Or maybe he has spent all this time in denial, convincing himself that he would never hurt himself; never have his ass land in a pile of woodchips.

_Santa movies being binge-watched on the living room’s television, snow blanketing the ground outside, and more hot chocolate than necessary for a family of such a small size already so energized, it is nearly Christmas. Christmas Eve may be cold, but he has no reason to be outside now. Besides, he has not been out on a playground in years. Swim team is what he looks forward to most of all now, and he is so excited to go back._

It is summer now. The nights are warm, but the days are warmer and he likes barely having to wear a thing each day. Thankfully, or maybe reluctantly, there are no monkey bars for him to hang upside down on while he wears little to no clothing. The calendar on his work desks says that he is on vacation this week. It also says that he will be back next Tuesday. Today is Wednesday, and he has no desire to go back.

_His friends have stopped going high on the swings and started getting high off the drugs they smuggled from their older siblings. Sober and clean, he is still on the swings but he is not kicking, and he is not getting high. He is staying low, staying on the ground, and because of this, he cannot jump, nor would he want to. But he can still swim, kicking one leg at a time._

At this very moment now, he is higher than any of his friends has ever been, up on the thirty-seventh floor, and there is a beach right there below. He went swimming earlier today, kicking one leg at a time because he can still do that. Though he still cannot jump, he can still take things one leg at a time, such as climbing up on the railing of his hotel room’s balcony: one leg at a time. The breeze rushes around his still frame, and yet it does not feel all that different from the force of gravity he used to have to push against while on a swing.

_Not once has he ever jumped off a swing, even if he once did consider trying one foot at a time- he saw someone do that once, and they ended up hurting themselves, so he could not jump off one foot at a time because he could not get hurt. Getting hurt meant no swimming, no having to kick with one leg at a time. It meant no monkey bars, no climbing up one leg at a time, and then letting go of the bar underneath his hands as he hung upside down._

He is not upside down now, up here on the balcony railing. Much like the swings, he cannot make herself jump with both legs at once, but he does want to jump, and jump he can; he can jump one leg at a time. All he has to do is kick out one foot, and then the other, and then-

“What the fuck are you doing?”


End file.
